I think that Mammy must have discovered the fact that my estate was
somewhat deteriorated.
I was painfully conscious of this myself, and saw no prospect of its
amelioration. The little cash that had come to me was quite dissipated, and
my meagre salary was insufficient to satisfy my artificial wants--the only
ones that a young man cannot dispense with and be happy.
In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man
embraced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober
and prosperous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my
manifest bent, and I was to sacrifice a university career as the
alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there
was nothing for it but to go to work.
I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, who, in her innocence of a proper
standard, frequently compared my productions to a "music back" or a tobacco
label. That was before the days of chromos.
Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my buttons. Those were days
of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part.
"Seems to me hit's time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs
William," she said, one Sunday morning.
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